I'll Be Waiting
by Scroll Keeper
Summary: Another look at the events in 'Please Wait For Me'


I'll Be Waiting

By Scroll Keeper

A companion piece to 'Please Wait For Me'

Author's Note: Just to clear up some confusion, I did not write 'Please Wait For Me'. The author of said piece has graciously allowed me to post my story as a sort-of sequel to that story. I apologize for any misunderstanding.

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I wish you have never grown up, Diego.

The previous statement is not to be taken literally, of course. It's only that I have to use your younger self to remind you of the person you used to be, which I suspect is still there, buried underneath that nonchalant attitude.

Believe me how I try to at least be civil. But you are too stubborn, Diego. You won't trust me with anything.

It hurts, Diego, deeply.

It is a beautiful night. I really don't want to destroy the mood. But sometimes you are impossible. Look at the languid way you carry yourself, like you don't have any other care in the world.

"Diego, why can't you... be as other men?" I choke out the words.

Maybe I have made some progress. You look somewhat disturbed by the question, although I have to admit you hide it quite well. Contrary to what you might believe, I am not enjoying it any more than you are. 

"I'm certain that since you went to that... the _university_..."

I wince at the way I say 'university'. I never intended for it to come out that way. It's like a cursed word or something.

Apparently, you are back to your regular self, Diego, whatever regular means to you. You don't seem to notice that there is anything wrong at all.

Funny. That gives me courage to finish my sentence.

"... you haven't even skinned a knee. In the meantime, other men are dying at the end of lances and daggers to fight for their freedom." 

What do I know about those men, and what do I care about them? I just want you, Diego.

Apparently, my mouth does not agree.

"Why can't you get up and fight, instead of sending those useless letters of yours? They do nothing, you know that. When you were younger, you never would have even thought of writing a letter. You would have taken instant action, to defend the side of the underdog." 

I can't believe I just spouted that non-sense! Unless you want to be jailed or hung, you just have to write letters. It's true they don't do much, but, at the risk of sounding clichéd, it's better than nothing. 

Still you are quiet. You are trying my patience, Diego. Don't you have something to say, anything at all to defend yourself?!

"What happened to you, Diego? Why were you more a man at ten years old than you are nearly fifteen years later?" 

Maybe it's your attitude, Diego. If you are not acting the part too much...

"I do not understand," comes your soft voice at last.

I sigh in exasperation. It's your first time opening your mouth, and all you have to say is something so unintelligent like 'I do not understand'?!

I'll grant you are polite about it, but I begin to wonder whether you have been listening to _me_.

"Oh, Diego! For someone so smart you are as dim as the sergeant, at times!"

No offense to the good sergeant. I just thought it was an appropriate analogy.

"Rosarita, I demand to know why you are acting this way." 

There is an edge to your voice. There is the fire in your deep hazel eyes. In a way I am glad. It means you have some fighting spirit left.

Still, you are not making the matter any easier for me by not cooperating.

"Why can't you remember what you used to stand for?!" I retort.

"Wait..."

The next thing I know, my hand makes a rough contact with your cheek. I have marred your handsome face. Ashamed, I turn away, not being able to look at the damage I have done. 

I have been harsh. I have been rude. I have insulted you.

And now I make you hate me.

I am disgusted with myself.

A tear drops. I let it. After all, women can cry all they want. They are of the weaker sex. And I am one of them. For all my talk of what I would do if I were a man, given a chance, I don't think I could actually go through with it.

What would I do now? The man I love probably never wishes to set eyes on me again. 

What did I just admit? That I love you, Diego?

People are under an impression that I am taken with Zorro, the local folk hero. At least, that must be what you believe.

I wish Zorro didn't exist.

Don't get me wrong. I admire Zorro. He has done a lot for his people, my people. The man is brave and charming. He does not hesitate to take a stand for what he feels passionately about. He'll have no second thought about laying his own life on the line if someone's life is in danger. He shares the same values I do. He has everything I could wish for in a man. 

Except that he is a fake.

I know what you must be thinking, Diego. It is a rather terrible statement to make about someone to whom we owe so much. Have I been so bitter that I don't know the line between right and wrong?

No. I know perfectly well what I say. I'll be the first to admit that I was thrilled when Zorro rescued me. Was it my fault? How could any woman resist him? With his grace, his look, and far too many reasons I can list, he could have all the _senoritas_ in the world if he only so lifts a finger.

That is the problem. No mere man can hope to compete with Zorro, not even the real man behind the mask himself. 

Because Zorro is not real.

Oh, he is real in the flesh and blood all right. He made my heart flutter. I had a silly grin on my face when he left me and went after that imposter of a capitan. 

Still, it must be the magic of the mask, the magic of the black clothing, the magic of the night. Nothing more, nothing less.

At least that is what I have deduced about Zorro.

In the course of my reflection, my feet take me back to you, Diego. You are still sitting there with your head down, apparently deep in thoughts. I wonder what they are. 

"Diego?" I begin tentatively.

You look up. I can't believe the face I see. You are so unhappy, Diego. How much of it is my doing? 

What a silly question! Probably all of it.

Without waiting to be invited, I take a seat next to you. 

"Diego."

You don't move away, but you don't acknowledge me either.

Carefully, I reach my hand out and touch your shoulder. I could possibly stand your hatred, but I can't afford to be ignored. Not until you hear what I have come to say. 

"Diego, I apologize." 

Silence. Perhaps I did not make myself clear enough.

"It was wrong to strike you. It was also wrong to... to say those things to you." 

You sigh. I do not expect forgiveness, Diego. Just say whatever you want.

"No need to apologize, Rosarita. What you said was correct. And..." you give a rueful smile, "The mark shall probably fade, in time." 

I smile and shake my head. This is more like the Diego I know and love.

"Diego... you are who you are. I should not try to change you. Zorro... well, Zorro fights in a more physical way. But in your own way, you help aid California in the struggle against tyranny." I pause, hoping I said it the right way, without ruffling any feathers.

A thought occurs to me, and I could not help but chuckling at its simplicity. "You know... if I were to see this El Zorro again, I would most likely ask him why he gives up so much to be... to be what he is." 

I have said Zorro is a fake. But that answer is just a cover up for something I have never admitted all along. He is a man who has sacrificed so much for other, but must have done entirely too little for himself, if he has at all.

Don't you agree, Diego?

"The answer might prove interesting." 

Smiling, I nod. I see you do. Clever, Diego.

You suddenly find the ground needs another examination. I take the hint. You are not ready to tell me everything yet. 

Leaning close, I kiss your cheek. "Goodnight, Diego."

I feel your gaze following me as I head back inside.

The sky is interesting, Diego. Maybe you will see what our future holds.

And I'll be waiting until the day you eventually let me in.


End file.
